


Blood Relations

by akaparalian



Series: Roy/Ed Week 2016 [6]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Further abuse of italics, Humor, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 08:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7633312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaparalian/pseuds/akaparalian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“See, that’s what I mean,” he says, speaking directly into Ed’s ear now, and Ed hates, hates, hates the way the puffs of breath against his neck and ear make him twitch, because he’s really not interested in giving this bastard the satisfaction. “Only an alchemist could look at a vampire and think ‘chimera.’”</p>
<p>Ed really, <i>honestly</i> can’t help it: he laughs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Relations

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be sexy what the hell is wrong with me.
> 
> Day 6 of Roy/Ed Week, and for July 30 I chose the prompt 'vampires/blood drinking,' because I figured maybe if I actually finally wrote vampire fic the last lingering vestiges of my preteen Twilight phase would leave me. Didn't quite work, I don't think, but... oh well.
> 
> There are many, many interpretations of adult!Ed that I love, but I think that the Indiana Jones-esque swashbuckling researcher-cum-adventurer type may be my very favorite always and forever until the end of time. Even when he gets waylaid by not-as-sexy-as-intended vampires.

Alphonse has always threatened to have something really stupid put on his tombstone if he dies doing something like this, like “Edward Elric: Beloved brother and friend, lost to the power of the garden shears” or something (which, that thing with the shears had been _one time_ , you’d really think _some people_ would learn to let it go). The thing is, he’s never thought before that he’d actually _deserve_ it, and he’s never put much stock in all those lectures about the “buddy system” and “only investigating dangerous rogue alchemists with backup” and “dammit Ed, if some weirdo traps you in his creepy alchemy murder basement again I won’t be the one who comes running to dig you out,” and yet as he sprints through this _creepy ass mansion_ with its _creepy ass inhabitants_ and _definitely_ creepy cloying, permeating smell of blood, he finds himself very much wishing he had his brother at his side. Or Winry. Or, hell, he’d settle for the _dog_ right about now.

Mind racing, Ed ducks around a corner, fully aware that he won’t have lost his pursuer but hoping he can at least buy himself some time. This has got to be some kind of fucked-up chimera thing, right? More fucked up than usual, that is. _Whatever_ this thing is that he’s stuck here with, it’s way too damn fast to be altogether human. _Shit_ , but he wishes Al were here.

“You really don’t have to keep running,” that voice purrs from the shadows to his right, and that’s all the warning Ed gets before he’s slammed into the wall so hard he sees stars.

Swearing, he immediately goes to smash his palms together, arrays pouring through his mind almost too fast for even him to comprehend, but quick as lightning there are other hands -- _cold_ hands, with a grip like iron no matter how pale and delicate they look -- bracing his wrists just far enough apart that he can’t even brush his fingers together. There’s a faux-disappointed _tsk_ in his ear, and Ed snarls.

At least this gives him a good chance to study his enemy, he supposes. He hadn’t really got a good look before -- by the time he’d realized the creepy old abandoned house where people heard screaming at night wasn’t as abandoned as previously advertised, he’d been too busy running for his life and swearing at himself for letting his guard down enough not to know he wasn’t alone until he’d seen movement in his periphery to bother really getting a good look at… whatever this is.

He _looks_ more or less human, Ed thinks dubiously even as he struggles to free himself, meeting with little success. Not as obviously an animal blend as _most_ chimeras he’s seen. At first glance, he’s a little older than Ed, maybe early 30s, almost inhumanly pale, dark hair, and vivid red eyes -- nothing like the usual red he’s used to seeing in Ishvalans, and this guy looks way more Xingese than Ishvalan, anyway, but his eyes practically _glow_ in the low light. 

“You’re persistent,” he says smoothly, and something about his voice makes half of Ed want to claw his face off and half of him want to shiver, which he is decidedly not comfortable with. “It’s very cute. But I’m afraid it’s not going to get you anywhere.”

“What _are_ you?” Ed spits, challenging this fuckwit with a jut of his jaw and a snarl, because he can’t exactly do much else at the moment and because people who think they’re winning are usually the most willing to talk.

He doesn’t get a proper answer, just a slow, spreading smile, and for a half-second he’s more confused than anything, but then there’s just a glimmer of light where there shouldn’t be, and his eyes follow it to --

Fangs. Okay, so _definitely_ a chimera. Or something. Probably, maybe. Whatever the case, though, Ed’s grunt of surprise doesn’t seem to be quite the response he was hoping for, because his eyes narrow in challenge.

“You don’t understand, do you?” he asks, voice still sultry and low but also _amused_ now, like he can see the way pointing out how in the dark Ed is about this whole situation makes his blood boil. “Most people see the fangs and then fill in the blanks on their own. But then, you alchemists always seem to jump to strange conclusions.”

“I don’t know how many alchemists you’ve dealt with, but I know I can recognize a chimera when I see one,” he growls, and the fucker has the audacity to _laugh_ , tightening his grip on Ed’s wrists and leaning in close.

“See, that’s what I mean,” he says, speaking directly into Ed’s ear now, and Ed hates, hates, _hates_ the way the puffs of breath against his neck and ear make him twitch, because he’s really not interested in giving this bastard the satisfaction. “Only an alchemist could look at a _vampire_ and think ‘chimera.’”

Ed really, _honestly_ can’t help it: he laughs.

He’s damn lucky it doesn’t cost him his life, probably; the guy mostly just looks confused and vaguely affronted.

“Okay, cut the shit,” Ed says as soons as he can manage even, normal speech again. “What’s _really_ going on here? You look damn human for a chimera, but something's clearly up.”

The whatever-the-fuck-he-is raises an eyebrow. “You know, I must say, in two hundred years I’ve never gotten a reaction like that.” He’s good; if Ed weren’t _also_ good, he might have missed the way he’s keenly waiting for Ed to take the ‘two hundred years’ bait. _Sorry, bastard,_ Ed thinks; there are few people in Amestris, or anywhere else, as familiar with unnaturally long lifetimes as the sons of Von Hohenheim. 

“There’s a Philosopher’s Stone involved in this somehow, isn’t there?” he challenges, eyes gleaming. He’s just as soon never dive into _that_ rat’s nest again, of course, but, well. At least he already sort of knows how to handle it, it that _is_ what this thing is.

Unfortunately, that’s where his luck and the power of catching his attacker off guard wear off. He’d thought he was pinned before, but suddenly the bastard is _everywhere_ , a knee sliding between Ed’s and his wrists transferred to just one hand -- though the grip seems no weaker -- so that the other can take hold of his jaw and tilt his heat to the side, revealing his neck.

“I don’t know what that means,” the not-chimera says mildly, his eyes a violent counterpoint to his controlled tone, “but I am getting quite bored of this little exercise.”

Ed only has a panicked half-second to think _Shit, maybe he was actually serious about that vampire bullshit_ before there are _teeth_ in his _throat_.

His first instinct is to scream, because, well, _of course it is_ ; there’s some _jackass_ biting his throat and his teeth are _way too sharp_ and he’s _actually sucking the blood what did Ed do to deserve this_. It takes him longer than it probably should, though, to realize that the sensation isn’t exactly… unpleasant. The initial bite had hurt, but, he realizes as a bit of the initial panic clears and his mind begins to race for solutions and answers, the whole area now feels kind of numb. Okay, so _that’s_ interesting. Not interesting enough to make him stick around, mind you, but interesting.

Unfortunately, the _vampire_ (god, he _really_ wishes Al were here, if only because he’s never actually going to believe this) doesn’t seem distracted enough by his -- eugh -- meal to loosen up his hold anyway; Ed tries struggling a little but, but discovers that that just makes his neck _actually_ hurt like a mother, and leaves him with probably-bruised wrists to boot, since the bastard’s grip is seriously immovable. Fuck, he really, really can’t believe he got himself into whatever the hell this is. He _hates_ this. He tries to squirm and gets nowhere. Apparently all he can do is wait.

And wait.

And _wait._

“God, are you _done_?” Ed snips, partially because he’s pissed and partially because, well, being what Alphonse might term his ‘usual bratty self’ is the only thing that really seems to have worked in his favor in any way so far.

Sure enough, the vamp leans back, eyes gleaming even _more_ brightly now, fuck. Ed tries to ignore the fact that something in his abdomen stutters a little at the way his mouth, slightly parted, glistens dark and wet.

“You’re stronger than most,” he says, something almost _admiring_ about his tone. _Well,_ Ed thinks sardonically, _at least he still respects me in the morning_. Metaphorically, of course. “I took quite a bit, and you’re not even wobbling.”

“I live a life that makes me very used to large amounts of blood loss,” Ed tells him flatly, because, well, it’s _true_. The slightly surprised, slightly delighted, uncomfortably _genuine-sounding_ (the _fuck_ ) chuckle he gets in return takes him by surprise much more than he’s comfortable with.

“And I suppose you let it all go to waste, don’t you?” he sighs, and Ed scowls, because come on, jackass, it’s _his blood_ , anytime it’s not _inside his body carrying oxygen to his cells_ it’s going to waste. But there’s something about those eyes that stops him -- something calculating and considering that tells him it might be a good idea to keep his mouth shut for just a moment. And, god help him, for once, he listens.

“What say you we make that lifestyle of yours a little less _wasteful_?” Fucking _of course_. Ed narrows his eyes in a glare.

“Why is it I feel like you won’t give me much of a choice?” he spits, but almost before the words are out of his mouth he’s met with the surprisingly uncomfortable sensation of being suddenly dropped out of a solid hold. 

He blinks in surprise; the bastard has backed away two full steps and is wiping his mouth, staring at Ed consideringly with those _creepy fuckin’ eyes_. “I always let them go,” he says, voice unexpectedly soft. “I have to eat, but. I always let them go. Usually not with their memories, but you… well, you’re a bit of an exception, aren’t you?”

“Without their _memories_?” 

He shrugs and grins, thankfully without much blood in his teeth. “Vampire.”

“What’s your name?” Ed asks, because, well, he feels like he should say _something_ , and that’s about the best he can come up with at the moment, his brain spiralling in twenty different directions at once. Not that it _really_ matters, but he’d like to have something to refer to him by other than ‘blood-sucking jackass.’

He gets a half-smile in response. “I haven’t used one in a while,” Pale and Perforated admits. “I don’t exactly get out much. But when I did, it was Roy.”

Ed snorts. “Roy. A jackass name for a jackass vampire. Fits.”

He should get out of here. He should _really_ get out of here. Not getting out of here when he’s being given the option is, in fact, stupid. Saying anything but ‘fuck you, if you ever touch me again I’ll stake the shit out of you, or whatever it is that I can do that hurts you, because there has to be _something_ ’ is stupid.

But. Well. As Al -- and Winry -- and _everyone else_ is way too fond of telling him, for being a genius, Ed’s really a pretty stupid guy. And shit, it’s not every day that you stumble upon the chance to do field research on an entirely unknown species of hominid. 

He clears his throat and quirks an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?” 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, catch me on [Tumblr](http://akaparalian.tumblr.com) and [Twitter](http://twitter.com/akaparalian)!
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


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